


all the floating dust

by n_kei



Series: dream lab [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Cyborgs, Drama, Fantasy, Far Future, M/M, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28211130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_kei/pseuds/n_kei
Summary: Taeyong is tasked with cleaning the water on Earth while he watches the planet take its last shuddering breaths. Jaehyun is the cyborg that relays his husband’s divorce message.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong
Series: dream lab [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067522
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51
Collections: THE COLLECTION





	all the floating dust

**Author's Note:**

> Testing waters with fantasy, as it is my first story for this particular genre. This is the first submission to THE DREAM LAB bingo challenge. My bingo card can be found [here](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EmO9eU2WEAAnJEF?format=png&name=medium). I will likely not be following the squares and write whatever I want, because the point isn't to get a Bingo anyway :) This is an experiment, don't take it too seriously. Happy reading! (And happy ㅈㅌ day!!)

Taeyong closes the sonic shower unit with practiced motions, neither slow nor quickly, only doing what must be done. He exits the worker’s room and into a narrow hallway, lit with cool cyan in thin bars stretching from floor to ceiling. Taeyong thinks about dinner briefly, walking past mass hall.

After two years of the same replicator food, he’s grown tired of the taste. Instead, he finds a vacant replicator, outputs a few ingredients, and brings them back to his room where he prepares a meal in the simple but sufficient kitchenette. He grates the two potatoes, thinly slices the green onion and zucchini before mixing in some other condiments he received from his last care package. Finally, he pours the batter into a sizzling pan.

It’s raining on the surface of Earth, perfect for potato pancakes. He swallows, imagining the taste of makgeolli, before pushing the thought away. He’d finished his last bottle a month ago, and the next package is not due for another two. With a soft sigh, Taeyong absentmindedly flips the pancake, makes some barley tea, and leans against the counter, staring at nothing.

It’s 2107.

Earth is no longer habitable. Unprecedented weather systems swept the surface, destroying everything in their path. Wildlife was destroyed, as well as any and all means of agriculture. Waste piled higher than mountains, creating an environment too toxic for life. Thus was born the idea of moving Earth’s population to space, clean the planet, and return to a fresh restart.

The initiative took off worldwide, unanimously, after governments and scientists from around the world pooled their intelligence, information and resources to create satellites to house the Earth’s inhabitants. These satellites were quickly built and released into space, racing against time or perhaps, life. In the last two decades, the majority of Earth’s inhabitants were shepherded to the three satellites that slowly spun in Earth’s orbit. Each was about the size of the moon, with a capacity of ten billion people. Earth’s inhabitants clocked approximately twelve billion at the time and split proportionately in thirds to each satellite.

The only ones who remained were the cleaners. It’s a glorified term for people who were forced into a decade long contract to ‘fix’ the planet. Taeyong was one of them.

Taeyong works for an intergovernmental waste management facility, water filtration department. There are others with far worse responsibilities, like safely removing toxins from the ground where millions of species are buried. Their everyday visuals are a stark reminder that Earth, for all that it was, no longer is. Water is a larger graveyard, but he encounters far less skeletons.

The building he works in is one amongst a few dozen across the planet. A strip of black concrete and metal by the shore. There are no animals, no insects or bugs, no life. The ocean waves are louder, the wind stronger, but the day is calm when compared with the storm last month, where Taeyong was convinced the facility would not stand against mother nature, collapsing by her will.

Alas, he survived, and his coworker teased his dramatics when he shared his thoughts with them the morning after. Taeyong sees the dark rings under their eyes and smiles too, wondering how many of them have had similar thoughts, but unwilling to admit out loud.

 _When the planet is clean and livable once more, we will return_.

Taeyong knew they wouldn’t, not if four billion people were assigned to a satellite that could house more than double of that population. He knew, but he couldn’t leave Earth. He’d sent his family off, knowing they would have a better quality of life on the satellite than he, staying on planet.

It’s been two years since, and another eight years before he may have to join them. He doesn’t know what that might look like, doesn’t want to even imagine it. Space is full of as many questions as the surface of Earth. At least if he dies on this planet, he will know what hit him (probably).

Tucking away his morose thoughts, Taeyong returns to cooking. He plates the food, scooping out a small portion of kimchi, and settles on his couch. He sweeps a hand above the band on his wrist, waking it up. “Asterisk, did I receive any new messages?”

“You have one new message from Juno,” replies a neutral, amicable voice.

Taeyong grew up vocally interacting with technology, and received Asterisk once he was placed on this mission. It’s been two years, and he slowly eased himself into communicating with technology as his closest source of social activity.

“Content?”

“Blank.”

Taeyong blinks, his brows furrowing into a slight frown. He’s never received a blank message before. Maybe there was a problem with the telecom service. Regardless, he’ll have to call them to retrieve the message. He brushes it to the back of his mind. “Alright, thank you.”

Taeyong stares into the lowly lit room for a moment longer, then picks up his chopsticks to dig in. The pancake that was fried to crisp is golden brown on the outside, soft and yellow on the inside. Taeyong closes his eyes and slowly chews through each bite. It feels surreal, to be stuck on a planet while the rest of humanity has left for space.

He is home, and home is here on Earth.

He ignores the weight of the band around his left ring finger and washes the dishes. When he is done, he refills his cup of tea and settles on his sofa.

Video communication is expensive and reserved for important calls. Taeyong’s rank can never make or receive video calls so he uses Juno, a galactic wireless telecom service, to communicate with his family on the satellites.

“Asterisk, connect to Juno.”

Asterisk whirs for a second before another voice plays from the room’s hidden speakers. This time, it is low, steady, and warm. Taeyong has become familiar with this voice, too. “Juno Communications Service, how may we help you?”

Taeyong sits on his hand before he chews through his nails. “Hi Juno. My username is Lima Tango Yankee, Oh-Seven-Oh-One.”

“Password?”

“Two, four, six, eight.”

A pause. “Welcome back, Lee Taeyong.”

“I received a new message with blank content today. Can you check to see if something was lost in translation?”

“Please wait while I retrieve your new message.” Taeyong stares at his mug, waiting for the Juno operator. For some reason, the lull of conversation is soothing. He hums quietly, taking a sip of warm tea. "The message was encrypted, not blank. Would you like to hear it now?”

Taeyong’s frown deepens. “Yes.”

The Juno operator reads in a kind voice, "I want a divorce. I will go to the lawyer and email you the papers in a few hours. Please sign and send them back as soon as possible."

Taeyong doesn’t move for a long moment, but his grip around the mug tightens, then loosens. He feels his mouth move eventually, but the voice does not sound his own. “Is that all?”

"Your partner also said, 'I've changed my number. Please don't try to contact me.’”

"I see. Thank you."

Taeyong is about to cut the call when the operator stops him. "What is it?"

"Is there anything-"

"No, there isn't."

"Oh."

"Thank you, Juno."

"It's Jaehyun."

"...I see. Thank you, Jaehyun."

Taeyong cuts the call. He stares at the dark walls around him, standard and bare. Four hours later, he receives the email.

Taeyong pulls on his protective suit, cast in magenta light for detoxification. If he does his job right he shouldn’t be exposed to harmful substances, but one can never be too careful. He adjusts the strap of the face visorThe white hazmat suit rustles quietly, like a cocoon around him. He then adjusts the 

He steps into the science hall, where two colleagues are sharing small talk before they officially clock in. It is not a very tense atmosphere, despite the work they do. He waves a brief hello, flashing a smile through the visor and settles at his desk.

The air systems are particularly violent today, low pressure winds sweeping thick dust from the ground before clashing tightly, relentlessly with the high pressure winds. Taeyong knew about this weather system a few days in advance, as it travelled from northeast down to Sokcho, Gangwon-do, Korea where his station is.

This direction always unearths manmade toxicity; he’ll be busy for the rest of the week.

With a sigh, he goes to work. His mind also drifts.

It’s been a week since the divorce papers were swiftly signed and sent back.

Taeyong hasn't told his family yet; but with the exception of his sister, no one else would care, probably. His parents were never active in their lives, choosing to bury themselves in work until it was time for retirement. After that, they looked after his nephew and niece while his sister continued her work at the broadcasting station, and his brother-in-law in land development. It was around the time they left the planet, while Taeyong decided to stay.

His sister, Nayoun, steals time between work and caring for her children to send Taeyong a care package every quarter year. It would be filled with his favourite things; snacks that aren't programmed into the replicator at his station, books by his request, the occasional bottle of makgeolli or wine.

What he looks forward to the most are her letters. It used to feel cheesy reading them, but they eventually became a chain and anchor, providing a sense of familiarity in a life so turbulent and quickly-changing; nevermind the fact that she is on a satellite while he is stuck on the irreversibly changed planet.

Taeyong completes task after task until the work day is over, and he’s due to clock out. With drawn out steps, he pulls out of his protective suit and steps into the sonic shower, rinsing everything off. It isn’t comfortable or calming by any stretch of imagination, but it gets the work done. After years of it, he’s used to it.

He pulls on his clothes, and skips the mass hall and his cabin. He needs something else. Something different.

It takes a moment for Taeyong to recognize the decor, the venue, the location.

He’s ventured to the station’s watering hole named, unimaginatively, The Bar. It’s not much, to be honest. With simple tables, stools and chairs, neon pink and green lighting and simple drinks, the bar is barebones and often empty.

Most people don’t visit the bar, opting instead to replicate their own alcohol and retreating to their quarters. It’s one thing to stare at the harsh reality of a dying planet for nine, ten hours of the day, another altogether to commiserate that reality; like talking about it would make it more real.

Nevertheless, Taeyong sidles into a booth and waves at the holographic projector for the menu. He studies it for a while, not sure of what to order.

The ventilation kicks in, filling the air with a low vibration. Taeyong pulls his arms closer around him instinctively, even though the temperature sits at the standard 24.5°C. He’s eyeing interestedly at the soju when a light silhouette slides into the seat in front of him.

Taeyong looks up.

It is a man with dark hair and hooded eyes. He has a tall, trim build, wearing a standard regulation outfit and an unreadable expression. He doesn’t meet Taeyong's eyes; but there’s something about him that gives Taeyong pause. A soft scent of something clean and gentle wafts into his senses. Belatedly, Taeyong pulls back his legs, straightening his posture and wonders if he’s met this man before. The man slowly looks up.

Their gazes meet, and Taeyong slowly nods.

The man nods back.

“I am Jaehyun.”

The low humming slows to a halt.

Taeyong nods slowly. “I thought all Juno operators were androids,” He pauses, hoping his next words don’t offend. “Not to demean your job, I mean. It’s just that telecommunication has just been automatized for over a century; maybe even two.”

“No offense taken,” Jaehyun replies, voice low and steady, just like the way he sounds on the communicator. “They need someone to oversee operations at every corner of the peninsula. Lucky for me, I was situated in Sokcho.” The sarcasm is unexpected and refreshing, Taeyong breaks into a small smile. “And you’d only be half right about automation. I am an altered human.”

A cyborg.

Taeyong clasps his hands together on his lap, suddenly apprehensive. “Right.”

Jaehyun looks around the bar. “Should we order first?”

A pause, then: “Okay.”

“Do you like mixed drinks? I can make you something.”

“But we’re at a bar.”

"It's not on the menu."

"...right. Fine, then."

Taeyong watches a pale, steady hand order one soju, beer and cider before clicking Submit. He looks away again as the cyborg waves the holographic projected menu, wondering what part of Jaehyun is not human. He’s never personally met a cyborg before. Medical practices have advanced leaps and bounds in the last century, and medical studies like biomechatronics have become more common. He tries to stay on top of the news, but he's not surprised by any medical 'miracles' at this point, even immortality.

Taeyong looks up again to catch Jaehyun staring back at him. Flustered, he looks away.

“I should apologize,” starts Jaehyun after a pause.

“What?”

“I knew you were here. I located you through your communication device,” explains Jaehyun. “It probably makes you uncomfortable, and violates the Juno security code but I had to see you.”

Taeyong takes a shallow breath, processing the full weight of the hacker cyborg’s words. “I don’t need your pity,” he says, recovering from the shock.

Jaehyun shakes his head quickly. “That’s not what I meant.” He licks his bottom lip, searching for the right words. Taeyong’s eyes follow the movement, before dropping somewhere above where the cyborg’s heart might be. He can't help the objective, scientific thoughts that creep into his mind. Questions like whether there is a pulse under the pale neck, are those little canines fake, and if a cyborg can produce body heat- "Hong Youngin mentioned that you liked trying new and different drinks. This mix isn't uncommon, but not many people know the ratio I use."

Taeyong ignores the pang of pain he feels from just hearing the name. "That's a ballsy claim," he replies, cocking an eyebrow.

Like clockwork, their drinks are served at the table. The electronic arm that deposited their drinks retracts to the ceiling. Jaehyun takes a shot glass in one hand, the bottle of soju in the other. Taeyong watches half-heartedly as Jaehyun mixes the drink, and is mildly surprised when he samples the drink and it tastes-

"Not bad."

The cyborg barista grins, taking a solid gulp. Taeyong notes the dimple, and wonders if that is fake too. "You don't taste the alcohol as much when you mix it like this."

Taeyong hums softly. "You're right."

Jaehyun ducks his head for a moment, then looks up again. "This isn't the only drink I know. I can make more."

"Were you a barista?"

"No, but I mean, I can learn."

"Oh." Taeyong pulls back, not realizing that he's leaned forward. The ventilation kicks on, and he wraps his arms around himself again. "I'm not a heavy drinker. I just enjoy a drink from time to time."

Jaehyun takes off his thin coat. He hands it over.

Taeyong quickly shakes his head. "I'm not cold. The temperature is regulated anyway."

"Just put it on. It's better than getting sick."

“Really, I’m okay.”

“I insist.”

"...alright. Thanks."

Taeyong takes the jacket into his hands. The fabric is not thick, but it is warm to the touch. He wraps it around his shoulders, then settles more comfortably in the plush seat. The soft, clean scent envelops his head and for a moment, he feels a sense of comfort. He hasn’t felt another person’s warmth in so long…

He hopes it doesn’t show on his face.

Something changes in Jaehyun's eyes, and the thin, tight lines around his mouth loosens. Taeyong wonders whether bionic eyes are a thing; but even if they existed, Jaehyun's eyes are likely human. They are far too expressive to be fake. Still, he has his reservations.

"Think of it as a hobby," continues Jaehyun. "It would be a waste if I mixed a perfectly good drink and have no one to share it with."

Taeyong raises an eyebrow. "Is that the best line you can come up with?"

"Sort of. I have others, if you'd like to hear."

"Spare me."

"Oh, okay."

Taeyong finishes the drink. Jaehyun gestures to the bottle, and Taeyong nods. Jaehyun dutifully mixes him another drink. "Did you expect a different reply?"

"No. Well. I thought you enjoyed cheesy banters."

This makes Taeyong pause again. Just how much does this cyborg barista know? Does he even want to know? He watches long fingers deftly mix the drinks again. Half of the soju bottle is gone in less than ten minutes. Taeyong’s never drank this much alcohol in such a short time, but he definitely feels the warmth emanating from within, like a lantern containing the fire.

“You know me so well,” he says at last. “It’s almost unfair how little I know about you, versus the other way around.”

Jaehyun nods, folding his lips into a tight line. “I know. I’m sorry. You can ask me anything.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

"If you’re wondering why I became a cyborg, you can ask.”

“I’m more curious how much of you is, but sure, bore me with the back story.”

“It could be the most riveting story you’ll ever hear,” argues the cyborg just as Taeyong realizes, under the dimmed neon lights and alcoholic buzz, is kind of good-looking. He sweeps the thought under the proverbial rug. “The left side of my body was heavily impacted in a motor accident. Almost exactly half of me is biomechatronic.”

“Transporter train?”

“Street racing, actually.”

Taeyong gawks. “You idiot.”

Jaehyun laughs heartily. Taeyong notes the way his eyes curl into kind crescents, the dimples growing deeper. He hasn’t seen such a genuine emotion in a long time.

“You’re not scared of death at all, are you?”

“I wasn’t thinking that much.”

“Hm.” Taeyong not-so-subtly studies Jaehyun’s left side. It must’ve hurt, but the cyborg doesn’t show pain. The left side… “What about your heart?”

“Still flesh and blood,” replies Jaehyun, wearing a rueful smile. “It doesn’t make me more human though.”

“What makes you more human?”

“Feelings, probably.”

“Now that’s really lame.”

Jaehyun raises his drink, and Taeyong feels compelled to meet his motion in the middle, clinking glass. They down their drinks, and Jaehyun mixes two more. Taeyong feels his cheeks slowly burn from within.

“Does alcohol affect you?”

“It never really affected me even when I was all human. You’re pink.”

Taeyong suppresses the urge to feel his face with the back of his hand. He knows he’s flushed, but having it pointed out by a stranger makes him feel embarrassed. “How is work?”

“More intimate than I expected when I first signed up for the job. They were looking for people with telemarketing experience. I was pretty good at it.”

“Pretty good, huh?” Taeyong thumbs the rim of the glass before setting it down. “Was that the only reason you took this job?”

“No, actually.” A light pause. “To be honest, I just didn’t want to leave. I took whatever job I could find.”

Taeyong expected as much. “That seems to be how everyone on this station feels, even though they’re all miserable as hell.” He takes a shallow breath, feeling his insides warming up from all the alcohol. “Do you remember how you arrived?”

“Escorted. The situation was already very dire outside. It was a matter of time before the shoreline was consumed by the weather systems. I was brought into one of the rooms, assigned work, and I’ve been doing the same work ever since, with adjustments whenever something unexpected happens.”

Taeyong nods, the same memories replaying in his head on the nights he can’t fall asleep.

“Sometimes,” starts Jaehyun after a long pause. “I wonder if I’d be happier up there, with the others.”

Taeyong hums softly. “Between being consumed by the consequences of our inaction and what the rest of the universe has in store, I choose to die on the planet I was born.”

Jaehyun puffs a short breath. “That’s a bit dark.”

“There’s nothing bright to look forward to. There hasn’t been, for a long time.”

To that, Jaehyun says nothing.

Taeyong finishes his drink and slides the glass to the centre. “I should go.”

“Okay.”

Jaehyun reaches for his band, where one’s credits are stored and Taeyong waves at him. “I’ll take care of it.”

Taeyong feels Jaehyun’s eyes staring as he activates the holographic projector, selects payment and scans his band. His credits decrease appropriately, and he dismisses the screen again.

“Would it be okay if I got it next time?”

Taeyong quirks a brow, smiling wryly. “You’re pushing your luck, creep.”

“You know my name.”

“It’s weird to call you that when I’ve called you Juno for two years.”

Jaehyun snorts, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. “Now you’re just psyching yourself out.”

Taeyong shrugs, tilting his head to the door. Jaehyun slides out of the booth, striding out the bar as he trails not far behind. Taeyong turns to the direction of his quarters.

“Hey,” calls the warm, steady voice behind him. Taeyong turns around to meet Jaehyun’s gaze in the cyan lighting. “If I. If.”

Taeyong watches the stranger, no, Jaehyun tumbling through his thoughts, looking for the right words and “Whenever you feel like practicing your budding barista skills, you can call me.”

Jaehyun’s face brightens and a grin pulls at his lips.

“I’ll see you then.”

“See you.”


End file.
